


sky is burning but at least we're warm

by bravest



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Grumpy Castiel, Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-07 23:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravest/pseuds/bravest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is cold, and Dean thinks a little too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sky is burning but at least we're warm

God, it's cold. Dean wiggles his toes, willing them to warm up. Even with a thick pair of socks on, the cold seeps in and numbs them. He longs for the warmth of his bed, but it's almost noon and he hasn't seen Cas yet, so he figures it's time to bring him some coffee and rouse him from his sleep.

Even that required a substantial effort on his part, and warm sweatpants or not, he's finding out the bunker is not the most well insulated building.

The coffee starts dripping into the pot right as he feels his phone vibrate from his pocket. He takes it out, expecting a message from Charlie confirming their plans later are still on, and instead finds a text message from Cas.

_Help me._

Dean's heart rate picks up as he reads the words, and then his phone vibrates in his hand again.

_It's too cold to do anything._

Dean really should have expected that. After living with Cas for a few weeks, he quickly learned that mornings are his least favorite thing in probably the entire universe. His mood is wildly irritating when you're working a case or trying to communicate something, but on their days off Dean has found himself thinknig of it as _endearing_.

When the coffee is done and he's at Castiel's door, Dean knocks on it gently. In his other hand he holds the biggest mug he found in the kitchen, the bitter aroma of coffee reaching his nose and the warmth of it spreading through his cold fingertips.

"You still alive in there?" He asks as he opens the door. On the bed there's nothing but what looks like about twenty blankets piled on top of each other. A grunt is the only sign that there's any life in there, and Dean would think it comical if he didn't know adjusting to humanity wasn't really a game for Cas.

"I brought you coffee," he says, carefully setting it down on Cas' bedside table. The room is as bare as it was when Cas first moved in, a fact Dean tries his best not to linger on. It makes him feel like Cas isn't planning on staying, like this is only temporary. He should be okay with that, Cas is his own person after all, free to live whichever life he choses, but a part of him isn't.

"How have humans survived these freezing temperatures?" Dean hears, muffled by the towering pile of blankets Cas is currently residing under. _He must be sweating buckets under there_ , Dean thinks, strangely absent from any annoyance or disgust. Cas sweating all over their blankets and sheets? No biggie. Maybe he can finally teach him how to do laundry. Ugh, the things he's been doing and thinking since Cas came to stay...it's been awfully domestic.

"Dunno, Cas. We just do," Dean says. "We don't really have a choice."  
  
"You're more resiliant than I ever gave you credit for _,_ " Cas adds, the blankets finally beginning to move as Cas crawls out of them. His arm comes out first, hand reaching for Dean, and then he peers over the edge with a squint.

"Coffee," he demands, sitting up with a blanket still wrapped around his shoulders.

"You're being childish," Dean chides, handing him his cup of coffee. The look of pure bliss and relief that crosses Cas' face when he takes it, holding it in both hands, is kind of adorable.

"Yes, well, I have years of childishness to make up for."

Cas sips at his coffee, letting out a content sigh and closing his eyes. Dean doesn't know if he should go or if he can stay, although he prefers the latter. The bunker feels empty, now, more days than not, and let's just say after all the years of bullshit Castiel's company has become something precious and something he favors highly.   
  
When Castiel opens his eyes again, he looks at Dean before shifting aside, making space on the bed for him to take. He hesitates, and Cas rolls his eyes and puts the mug down to grab his wrist and tug.

"What?" Dean asks, even though it's a stupid question and he knows exactly what Cas wants. The questions he should be asking are too much, though, too vulnerable and open: Can I really? Why me? Why now?

"Dean," Cas says, and Dean relents, taking place next to Cas, sliding his feet under the covers. Cas lies down, so Dean does the same, his heart beating too fast for a grown man about to cuddle. That's all this is, all this needs to be, and there's no reason for his stomach to flop about. He's cuddled before, in fact he's kind of a pro at it; or so he likes to think, when he remembers the lazy, content smiles of past partners with their arms around him or vice versa.

So why does it feel like his stomach is in his throat when Cas settles close?

He's warm against Dean's side, wearing only a t-shirt and boxer shorts under the sheets and blankets and is that a towel?

"You stole a bath towel."

"Shh," Cas says, moving again. Dean is pointedly not looking at him, staring up at the ceiling until he's suddenly covered, fully under the sheets now, Cas alongside him.

"Oh my god," he groans, and he feels more than he hears Cas' soft, breathy laughter. That's how fucking close they are: Dean can feel his breath against the side of his face. He doesn't remember the last time he's been this close with anyone that _mattered_ \-- not that the people he choses to sleep with aren't, they're just rarely people he has an intimate, emotional connection with that spans years as well as hell, heaven and purgatory.

Yeah, this is definitely something else.

There's movement again, Cas nudging Dean on his side. He complies, allows Cas to wrap himself around him, to spoon him. Fuck, he loves being the little spoon, and he didn't even have to _ask._ Cas just knew.

Then again, that's kind of what Cas has always been about, hasn't it? He's always known what Dean is about, what he did in Hell, the things he's done and said to Sam, the awful crap he put Lisa and Ben through. Cas knows things about Dean that he can barely admit to himself, and yet, here he is.  
  
Here he is.

His thoughts are interrupted by awful, cruel, freezing fingers sliding up under his shirt and pressing at his tummy.

"Cas!" He yelps, jerking in surprise. He grabs Cas' wrist, trying to pull his hand away from his shirt. "Your fingers are _freezing_ , asshole," he grunts.

Cas huffs, removing his hand.

"I know, but you're warm," he says, dripping with disappointment. Dean lets go of his wrist, steeling himself for a second attack on the skin under his shirt, but instead finds his fingers entwined with Cas'.  
  
Tightly, warmly, like they fit just right.

He stops breathing for a second, watching their hands laced together like that. Has he held hands with anyone since Lisa? Did he even ever hold hands with her? Did he bother doing something so simple and easy, something that said _I'm here_ as much as it anchored you in space, in time?

"Are you alright?" Cas asks against the back of his neck. His thumb begins to stroke along Dean's knuckles, and Dean is transfixed by the movement.

He should push him away, tell him there's much better out there, that he deserves someone who -- someone _else_ , someone that isn't him. But the lips brushing at his nape, as light as a feather, tell him it's already too late.

"Yeah, m'good," he says finally, relaxing against Cas. He squirms again, so his back is lined up and pressed against Cas' chest. He tangles their legs together, revels in the prickly feel of them moving against each other. It's nice, so fucking nice, warm and safe and Dean for an instant thinks he might actually cry. He's choked up, because he feels like a kid again, making a fort while his mom bakes him a pie, feeling like nothing horrible in the world could ever happen.  
  
Now he knows _everything_ horrible can and has and will happened, but that only makes this moment mean so much more.

He clears his throat, giving Castiel's hand a firm squeeze.

"You, uh. Y'feel better now?" He asks, anything to keep his mind off of that sudden wave of emotion, off of how badly he'd wanted to be held and touched like he was cared for and loved.

"Yes. Definitely," Cas answers, and the touch of his lips this time is anything but light; it's a kiss, pressed with no hesitation or doubt _._ "Thank you."

There's a pause, one during which it occurs to Dean there's no one else in the world he'd rather be doing this with. The thought is another one of those that skirts uncomfortable territory for him, stuff and things he's not quite ready to think about just yet.  
  
Instead he does what he does best.

"Y'know what else helps when you're really cold?"

"What?"

"Getting naked," he says, turning slightly to look over his shoulder at Cas, wanting to see his response to his terribly timed joke.  
  
What he finds isn't annoyance or laughter, instead it's _intent_ , and suddenly the curl in his gut is one he recognizes and knows well, and is a far cry from being nervous.

"We can do that," Cas says, voice low, sending a shiver right down Dean's spine.

"Oh," he breathes, and then the cold fingers are back, pulling and tugging at his shirt, the waistband of his bands. They keep going, running over his ribs and his chest, pressing into his arms, trailing along his thighs.

By the time they find purchase in Dean's hair, they're warm against his skin.


End file.
